


Rain towards morning

by theotherella



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Magic, Aromantic Asexual Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Aromantic Asexual Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Captivity, Comfort, Compelling Voice, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is My Hero, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Gen, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Hurt Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Control, Morality | Patton Sanders is Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sander's Parent, No Romance, Original Antagonist, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Protective Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sassy Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Storms, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherella/pseuds/theotherella
Summary: A friendship grows between Roman, a lonely farmer, and a mysterious stranger. But when Virgil's past catches up with both of them, Roman digs himself in farther than he imagined as his heroism is cruelly tested.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rain Towards Morning by Elizabeth Bishop
> 
> The great light cage has broken up in the air,  
> freeing, I think, about a million birds  
> whose wild ascending shadows will not be back,  
> and all the wires come falling down.  
> No cage, no frightening birds; the rain  
> is brightening now. The face is pale  
> that tried the puzzle of their prison  
> and solved it with an unexpected kiss,  
> whose freckled unsuspected hands alit.
> 
> This was edited by the wonderful Marinia! I can't emphasise how wonderful an editor she is- this story is so elevated by her work and I appreciate it so much! From the summary to the beats of dialogue to tangled sections of narration, she's helped so much and I encouraged any readers to check out her account and beautiful writing!  
> Another huge thank you to everyone who read this as it took shape on Discord! It really motivated me and the discussions from ways to dispose of a body (swamps?) to guessing how the story would enfold were delightful.

Roman met Virgil in the gentle mist of morning, dew bejewelling every blade of grass and drooping flower in the meadow sloping down from his farm. The mist lay over the fields like a breath in cold air, blurring the details of the landscape, until up close each blade of grass was picked out in brilliant silver droplets. He occasionally found people sleeping under the hedgerows, most of them travelling for work, but usually they made an effort to shelter themselves from the elements. 

This man lay in the middle of the field, droplets of dew clinging to his eyelashes and fingers dug into the earth at his sides. He was pale as the fog over the hills in the distance, and his thin white shirt fluttered in the breeze. Deep eyebags shadowed his eyes.

"Hello!" Roman called over to him, hurrying down the slope to get to him.

The man startled awake and scrambled back. 

"And what the fuck do you want?" he snapped, wide eyes darting back and forth between the gate and Roman.

Roman halted. "Nothing! Nothing!" He laughed, trying to diffuse the tension. "You looked like a corpse."

" _Thanks_." 

"No, like..." Roman cut himself off with a shake of his head. "I was concerned! You're not dressed for the weather."

The man ducked his head as he snickered, damp hair hanging into his face. 

Roman was thoroughly confused but, well, there was no use getting hung up on that. "Do you want breakfast?"

"What?"

"Breakfast!" Roman said brightly. "My farm is just up on the ridge. Come and have breakfast with me."

"For...what?" 

"Free?" Roman tried.

The man unfolded, rising onto his feet with an airy grace. He was taller than Roman, but looked thin enough to be blown away with a strong breeze. "Free," he repeated warily. "Just as a gift?"

"I promise," Roman said, raising up his right hand. "On my honour!"

"I'll settle on wagering your farm instead." 

Roman wasn't entirely sure whether that was a joke but, well, he wasn't planning to play any mind games over eggs. "On my farm, you'll owe me nothing."

"Okay," the stranger said. He wrapped an arm over his chest. "Thank you." 

"No problem," Roman said, setting back home. "Where did you come from?"

"The, uh, road. Just trying to make the next town." Roman glanced at the man's hands, delicate and pale as though he'd never done a day's work in his life.

"Which town?"

"Do you usually ask so many questions?" The stranger complained, though he didn't sound too annoyed.

"Just making conversation," Roman said lightly. 

"Huh. Alright."

He led him back up the hill, to his home. Roman's house was comfortable and cosy, a haven of well-fitted logs and patterned curtains, and had smoke drifting from the chimney. With a flourish, he opened the door. "Come on in and dry off." 

At that, the stranger flinched back. "Oh, I- I don't really- wouldn't that be- I don't want to impose."

"Sir, I think you need to calm down just slightly," Roman said. "It's alright!" 

The stranger bristled like a cat, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. "Maybe I should go."

"I’m confused," Roman admitted. 

"I'll go," the stranger repeated more firmly. He turned away from Roman, looking at the misty mountains in the distance. "Sorry."

"Can you...tell me what’s wrong?"

"I won't sit down and join you for a meal."

"At least get dry?" Roman offered. "You're soaking wet."

The man rubbed the back of his neck with an earth-stained hand. "I'm fine out here."

Roman closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for the strength to not insult the man, even though he badly wanted to. But, he did not have that luck. "I came to give you breakfast, not play cryptic-crossword puzzles with someone as pale as the paper they’re printed on."

The stranger let out a huff of laughter. "Fine. Whatever. It's the house. I don't want to be in it."

"What's wrong with my house?" Roman asked indignantly. 

"Nothing!" the stranger assured him. "Nothing. I just...prefer not to have a roof over my head; dumb, I know."

"A little," Roman admitted, "but nothing I can't work with. Is that why you were...sleeping under the stars?"

The stranger made a sound of assent.

Roman shrugged. "You could’ve just said so. Sit! Sit down on the doorstep and I'll get you something!"

The stranger folded down to sit cross-legged a few steps away from the doorway. "Thank you. I do appreciate it."

"Chivalry is my middle name! Well, it's really Patton, after my dad, but we don't need to quibble about particulars."

That made the stranger laugh again, and Roman felt a rush of excitement at the sound. Maybe knighthood was out of bounds, but he liked to romanticise his father's hospitality. Now that he was an adult he was finally free to help others in the most dramatic way he could.

Roman crouched to stoke the fire, keeping the door open to talk to the stranger. "So, where are you hailing from?"

"Here and there."

"How about your family?"

"All over. Yours?" 

"A few valleys over, actually," Roman said, cracking an egg into a pan with a pleasant sizzle. "We came over to stake this land for me when I was twenty."

"Anyone else here?"

"No, no-" Roman carefully put in a second egg. "I would have liked to live out here with friends, but everyone else had their own plans: marriage, town jobs, helping their families."

The stranger shrugged. "Eh, friends are overrated anyhow.”

“What’s better? Romance?” Roman scoffed.

“Spirits, no.” The stranger pulled a face. “Not my thing either. Friends are nice; being alone is nicer.”

“How stoic and standoffish off you.”

The stranger laughed. “I’ll be your friend here, then, for a little while.”

“That might be nice,” Roman said softly. 

A playful breeze blew through the grass. He sneezed as it tumbled inside and tickled his face. He reached for a plate and piled it with the eggs, some bread, and cheese. 

"Do you have a name?" the stranger asked him.

"Roman- unless I misremember." 

"I'll remember."

"That's a little ominous," Roman said with a laugh. 

"No, it's not," the stranger said simply. "Hospitality is not a bad thing to be remembered for." He stood up to take his plate from Roman, then settled back across from him.

"How about your name?" Roman asked. 

"What begins with the end and ends with the beginning?" the stranger said.

"What?" Roman said slowly. "I don't know."

"Figure it out," the stranger said with a smirk, tearing off a hunk of his bread and popping it in his mouth. " _Fuck_ ," he breathed out, face suddenly losing about ten layers of cryptic protection and instead devoting itself to staring lovingly at the bread.

The shift in behaviour startled a laugh out of Roman. "It's still warm from baking."

"It's not bad," the stranger said, tearing off another piece and dipping it into the yolk of his egg with one hand while feeding himself some cheese with the other. 

Roman decided to leave him free to eat, puzzling over what in the world began with the end and ended with the beginning. An ouroboros? 

By the time the stranger had wolfed down the whole plate -which admittedly didn’t take very long - and regained a bit of colour in his face, Roman was as stumped as he had been in the beginning.

"So? What is your name? A...full stop, maybe?" 

"Fucked if I know," the stranger said cheerfully. "I just didn't want you to bother me while I was eating. You can call me Virgil."

"You could have just asked me not to talk to you! You said you would be a friend!" 

The stranger shrugged, almost embarrassed. "Thought you liked the cryptic thing." He answered after a beat too long.

"You could be more polite since I home-cooked that meal for you," Roman said indignantly.

"I don't owe you anything for the meal," Virgil said coolly. "That includes manners."

Roman rolled his eyes. "My deepest apologies."

"Don't need 'em." Virgil got to his feet and handed Roman his plate back. "Thank you very much for the meal. Genuinely."

"Well, keep the windows open for luck to blow in," Roman said. "Or the, uh, metaphorical windows anyhow." 

"And open to let it take its leave again," Virgil finished the traditional farewell. "Literal windows for you." 

"Do you want anything for the road?" Roman asked. "I could pack something?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," Virgil replied. He tugged the edges of his shirt over his wrists and slouched before he gave Roman a parting salute. "Bye, Roman."

Roman watched Virgil's back disappear down the road as he washed up, then threw open his windows to air his home as he began his day in earnest.

*

Roman did not expect to see Virgil again, as was the way of these things. 

But a month or so later, as he dragged his chair outside to watch the sunset, a figure in white made its way up to his farm from the road. The evening was still and heavy, no clouds in the sky to block the oppressive heat. 

The figure stopped just in front of him. "Hey Roman," he said, cupping the back of his neck. "I'm Virgil. Again."

"I remember you," Roman said, surprised. "No rooves, no manners, no cloak- if I'm not wrong?"

Virgil laughed through his nose. "And I still haven’t got any of those."

"What brings you here?"

"You do, I guess-" Virgil was still just wearing his white shirt, but he lifted it up to reveal a hidden leather pouch he'd tied around his middle. He opened it up and pulled out a handful of shining silver, which he tipped into Roman's palms. "A gift."

"Shrieking spirits, that's a lot!" Roman said. "I can't take that just for breakfast!"

"It's not a payment." Virgil folded his arms in offence. "I just said it's a gift." 

Roman frowned. "But why?" 

"Good things should come to good people," he said simply.

"Don't you want to keep that?" Roman's brow furrowed. "At least buy a cloak, dude, it won't be summer forever. You could even buy land-"

"I don't want land, or a cloak." Virgil put a clammy hand over Roman's and closed the farmer's fingers over the silver. "Good things for good people, that's the only aim." 

"...you're a good people."

It wasn't clear if Virgil was shaking his head to dispel his laughter or because he disagreed."Just take it. Okay?"

Roman did. "How did you come by it?" 

"It’s a gift.” Virgil looked at Roman as though that settled the matter completely. 

How would a vagabond know someone giving gifts like that? “From whom?”

“A friend.”

"Is it stolen?" Roman said nervously. "I don't want to get in trouble with the law. That would not be a good thing."

"Promise you won't," Virgil said breezily. 

"Okay," Roman said. "Okay." He turned over the smooth pieces of silver in his hand. "Luck blew in, I suppose..."

"It blew in for you, because I let it go out," Virgil said, as easily as he finished the farewell before. "That's the way to go."Overhead, there was a slight movement in the sky; an unreliable promise of rain and reprieve from the heat. "How's your farm?" Virgil asked.

"Alright," Roman said. "The soil is a little dry for the time of year, but I'll manage if it's back to normal soon. Hoping they bring me rain."

"It's all we can do," Virgil said with a nod. "Well, use the silver for whatever."

"Stay a little while?" Roman asked him. "Come on! We should celebrate! I have food leftover from dinner- I should thank you!"

Virgil wavered, then moved to tiptoe to reach the windows near Roman’s head. Time and food, presumably, had flushed his skin the same pink of the distant sunset against his white shirt- _bang_.

He jumped as Virgil opened his shutters.

Without a word, he then set out to the other side of Roman's house, and there was a corresponding bang as he opened the shutters on that side too.

Virgil made a full circuit to where Roman was sitting in thorough confusion. "For the spirits," he said simply. "You need rain, don't you? Silver won't buy you that."

"I must admit, Virgil," Roman said. "that you are beginning to worry me somewhat. Luck is a superstition. I do love a good story, but that doesn’t mean you have to go around just giving people things." 

"Why not?" Virgil shrugged. "I could eat, if there’s food going. And your meadow is nice."

"I can keep the doors open," Roman offered. "And just drag my mattress to the doorway for you to have a decent rest, at least."

"No rooves," Virgil said. 

"...can I at least ask why that is? Or how long you've done that?" 

"No and no," Virgil said, crossing wrapping his arms over his chest. 

"Maybe it's an avoidance thing," Roman posited. "If you tried a little bit of a roof-"

"No rooves," Virgil repeated firmly. "No rooves, no walls."

Roman got up from his chair and went into his kitchen for food. "No manners," he added, in a teasing tone. "And no cloak. Got it, got it-" 

"Took you long enough." But Virgil was mollified.

By the time Roman came out, Virgil was sitting on the chair watching the sunset, the light of it reflecting against his skin. 

"Seat-hog," Roman said, handing him the plate.

Virgil sat cross-legged and rested the plate in the middle of his legs. There was some spicy sausage, leftover cold potatoes, and a pile of preserved fruit with a little wall of bread crust around it so he could save it for dessert. 

Virgil happily dipped a potato in the fruit, eliciting a pained noise from Roman. 

"Why would you mix those?" he cried. 

"Why not?"

"But why?"

"Why not?" Virgil repeated, carefully sandwiching some fruit between a piece of sausage and potato. 

"But you're- it's all wrong-"

"Don't knock it till you try it."

"But I made a little battlement to keep the fruit separate-"

"I just gave you silver, don't tell me what to do."

"I tried so hard to make it nice-" Roman said with a melodramatic sigh.

"But I don’t care," Virgil said with a mischievous grin. "Fuck you." He popped his stack of food in his mouth, seeming to relish the clashing flavours and teasing Roman in equal measure. 

Roman threw his hand to his chest with a dramatic noise of offence. 

Virgil laughed, leaving off the fruit and tucking in properly. He had the same single-minded focus on this meal as he had the last one, an unabashed joy in it which, like anything else about him, was just to the left of normal.

"Have you been having enough to eat?" Roman couldn't help but ask. 

"Me? Oh, sure," Virgil said. "I've been travelling here and there; don't worry about me." 

"Any plans?" Roman asked, settling on the doorstep since it seemed Virgil wouldn't move from his chair. "Future dreams? For me- I want to set up an orchard! And long term...I don't know, I want to do something big and grand and heroic. It varies on the day, really."

There was quiet for a moment as Virgil finished his mouthful, then he stretched his arms upwards and held it for a moment, content. "I might head up the mountains, tomorrow. See what's there."

"Nothing else? Really?"

A breeze brushed against Roman's ankles, although the rest of the night was still, and it wound upwards to ruffle Virgil's hair before it disappeared again. "Maybe I'll find more good things for good people. Can't promise anything, though." 

"How old are you, even?"

"Why's it matter?"

"Well, you won't be young forever," Roman pointed out. "I'm all for great and noble journeys! But- I see people in old age sleeping outside like you with no money, no savings, nowhere to go-"

"Great," Virgil interrupted him. "Maybe I'll meet some more of them and find some silver for them."

"Not my point." Roman was uncharacteristically serious. 

Virgil ignored him and returned his focus to the food.

Roman was beginning to feel distinctly guilty for the silver in his pockets. "Even if you don't want to get tied down, at least get… get a horse, or something-"

"I'm happy," Virgil said firmly. "Okay?"

"On your own head be it," Roman grumbled. 

"Which it is."

"You're insufferable," Roman said lightly.

"I know." 

Roman waited until Virgil had finished up before he broached conversation again. "How far away have you gone? I've not been beyond these few valleys, I was hoping to travel more, but," He shrugged. "the farm needs me."

It was the right question. Virgil tilted his head and considered it. "I've been to the sea on both sides. Up to the mountains in the West. Didn't like the desert. Don't do cities anymore, but I went to as many as I could before now."

"The capital?"

"Yup."

"You have to tell me about it!" Roman said, excited. "The theatres and museums and...all of it."

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I'm- what do you want to know? I can't tell you anything a book wouldn't. Less, probably."

"What's your opinion?"

"I, uh- I liked the marketplaces. The people and the colours, and the more exotic goods...the theatre was alright too. I like tragedies, war stories, that kind of thing."

"Have a favourite?"

"...I dunno."

"What do you like about them?"

"Sad and scary stuff can be interesting, cathartic, you know- I think that you can do more with them, I guess."

"I can see that!" Roman said. "I like a happy ending though."

"I think they're overrated."

"Do you have a favourite sad ending?"

Virgil began to talk more about a famous love tragedy and its subversions of genre, and Roman, genuinely interested, drew him out on the subject until it was exhausted. Just as it seemed they were done, Virgil ventured a story about an incident on the Northern Road of his own accord, and the flow of the conversation continued.

Once the sun had well and truly fallen down from the sky, Roman began to yawn. "I might have to turn in; there's work tomorrow. Sleep over, let's have breakfast together tomorrow."

"Sure," the vagrant said, pushing himself to his feet with a fluid movement. "I'll see you then."

Roman resisted the urge to offer a blanket, and waved Virgil goodnight. He closed his door but not his shutters, figuring he might as well invite in the spirits of luck and rain. When he was younger he’d wanted to believe in them, leaving the shutters open and sometimes waking up with his dad’s homemade candy under the pillow. But now he knew that if they weren’t kids’ fairy stories they were at most metaphors about opportunity and the vagaries of fortune.

Roman woke up to gentle pattering on his roof and the wind spitting raindrops onto his face through the windows. He stumbled up to bang the windows shut before tucking himself back in.

He felt like he was forgetting something. Had he fed the chickens...

Virgil! Oh, that was it. He tugged his bedclothes into a cloak as he opened up the door and peeked out at his fields. 

There was still a pale figure lying in the middle of the meadow. 

"Fool," Roman said, between fond and exasperated, and checked the sky for what the pattern of rain would be that day. Not long; it seemed. The clouds were already mostly centred above the farm; the distant sky was blue and clear. 

He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Virgil!" he yelled over the pattering rain. "Oh, Virgil!" 

The figure startled up, throwing his hands over his head as if the rain would beat him. 

"Virgil!" Roman yelled again. "At least find a tree?"

After a moment, Virgil uncurled and looked over to where Roman was. 

"What?" he snapped. 

"It's raining!" Roman called, a little redundantly. "Find a tree!" 

"Find your own bloody tree!" Virgil threw himself back onto the ground, pointedly turning away from Roman. 

"I am going to murder him," Roman muttered to himself. "The art of chivalry! The gratitude of a guest! Oh, but these things are so passé..."

He closed the door and started getting ready for the day. Pulling on his cloak, Roman headed out to feed his chickens. He went through his morning chores, trying to focus on the smell of petrichor and damp earth as well as the hiss of rain in the way his father had taught him. Simply paying attention to his senses helped him to dispel anger or anxiety. 

He had just scattered the feed when- "Rabid roosters!" Roman screamed as Virgil appeared at his elbow. 

"I've not got time for breakfast," Virgil said. He looked like the victim of a poorly-executed drowning. "I'm leaving."

"All because I woke you up?" Roman asked, pressing a hand over his racing heart. "No need to try and shock me!" 

"Didn't try, I succeeded," Virgil said with a small smile. "And no, I do actually have to leave."

"For what?"

"For nothing; I'll go for free," Virgil quipped. He turned and walked away. No wonder he had surprised Roman; he made barely any noise as he walked. 

"I think you quite like being dramatic," Roman said. "And I think that you could do quite well in one of your tragedies, you have a talent for theatrics."

"Oh really?"

"I'm sorry I woke you up- I just didn't want you to be soaked through. Is that so evil?"

Virgil spread his arms. "Because I wasn't soaked through before."

"Just stay for breakfast," Roman asked. "Why are you making such a big deal of it?"

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "I'm not; you are." 

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the meadow," Roman said, sotto voce. 

Virgil mimicked his tone, widening his eyes for emphasis. "Someone woke up being yelled at."

"Fine!" Roman said. "Keep the windows open for luck to blow in." 

Virgil folded his arms. "And open to let it leave again."

So Virgil left in anger, and Roman was left to mull over it as he startled the chickens with a handful of violently thrown feed.

*

The third time Virgil came was only three weeks later. 

It was a day where the sky seemed higher than usual, wide and blowsy with scudding clouds in patchwork colours. Wind rippled an ocean of grass into rolling waves. 

Roman was pacing the perimeter of his property, checking the fences for damage, when a distinctive white-shirted figure came into view on the road from the mountains. 

"Hey." Virgil saluted Roman with two fingers as he reached him, leaning over his fence. "Are we good now?"

Roman blew out a breath with a laugh, waving a hand. "That was ages ago, ages and ages and ages." 

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound that good."

"I admit, I was somewhat...perturbed."

"Sorry.” Roman figured that was as much of an apology as he’d get, but at least it sounded sincere. “I was passing this way and I figured...might as well say hi."

Well, it wasn't like Roman got a lot of visitors. "Hi," he said, "I'm a little busy for now, but you can come around with me." 

Virgil hopped over the fence with ease. "Okay."

Roman carried on his stroll. "So- did you see those mountains?"

"I did," Virgil said, "The sunrise was pretty from up there, but I don't know if all the climbing was worth it."

"I guess you have to do the climbing to know."

Virgil looked at Roman properly. "Smart."

"Oh. Thank you." Roman grinned. "And I used your silver to plant my orchard. I'm starting with apples." 

"Nice."

That time, Roman didn't so much as offer for Virgil to come inside, and he let Virgil sleep in as long as he liked out in the meadow. 

It rained after Virgil left, and Roman began to wonder.

A few months later, Virgil came back. He gave Roman sticks of cinnamon from distant markets for his apples, and wouldn't take a blanket for the night although his skin was freezing to the touch. 

Maybe if they had to spend more time together then Virgil's contrary ways and Roman's short fuse would spark fights of more consequence. As it was, if Virgil left after a fight then both were over it by the time he returned for a plate of food and some conversation. They both liked theatre, they could bicker like anything, and friendship grew easily between them. 

*

It was an autumn day, and Roman was picking apples when he heard the lightest of footsteps behind him. 

"They look good."

Roman turned with a grin and tossed an apple down to Virgil. "All thanks to you. How are you?"

"Alright." Virgil bit into the apple and gave Roman a thumbs up. "Not bad."

"Not bad? Rubies are not redder! The grass is not more green! Honey not swee-" The ladder wobbled as Roman threw his hand out, and Virgil rushed forward to grab the base. Roman teetered in the air for a moment, until he grabbed onto a branch. 

"Idiot," Virgil snapped, though Roman could hear the worry in his voice. 

"Honey," Roman repeated breathlessly, "is not more sweet."

" _Idiot_." Virgil picked his apple off the ground and brushed the dirt off on his shirt.

"Let me guess," Roman said, climbing down the ladder, "you've already hit no manners."

"I never left no manners," Virgil said through a mouth full of apple.

"Charming." 

Virgil grinned at him. "You know it."

Up close, Virgil looked exhausted. His permanent eye bags were dark as rain clouds, and he seemed to have lost the colour in his face that summer had given him. But there was nothing Roman's stranger hated more than a direct line of questioning. "What have you been up to?"

"This and that," Virgil said. "Trying...new things." 

"What kind of new things?"

Virgil shrugged. "Helping more people in a bigger way."

"But I'm your favourite person you help?" Roman teased with a grin.

"Shut up," Virgil said, ducking under his overgrown fringe, and that was more of a confirmation than a yes would have been.

Roman laughed triumphantly. "Ah! You do love me!"

Virgil scowled. "You just have food."

"That's what they say about stray cats, but I chose to believe I can speak in feline whispers."

Virgil laughed through his nose. "So you can cat-whisper me?"

"When you hiss it means 'fuck off'," Roman said solemnly.

Virgil laughed again. "That it does."

"Who are the other people that are feeding you throughout the land?" Roman asked.

"There's an innkeeper in the West," Virgil said. "She always says I'm too skinny, and she collects little figurines so I bring them to her from all over. And, uh, if I need to buy things there's a pie shop I like who'll take shiny rocks for their kid. And anyone who lets their trees grow over into the road is kind of giving the fruit. Sometimes I offer to help out people and they offer food."

"But spirits forbid they pay you with it."

Virgil shrugged. "I don't mind jobs. I just prefer not to get stuck places."

"See? Cat."

"Maybe so." Virgil tugged another apple off Roman's tree without asking, then tossed it into the basket. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Of course."

Virgil smiled at Roman, eyes scrunching up.

Roman gave him a slow blink back in cat-smile, before breaking off with a laugh. "You know, you can help me out here or keep on talking from where you are, I don't mind." 

"I'll help, as long as I get to go up the ladder."

"Sure."

Virgil scaled the ladder easily, and the leaves murmured contentedly among themselves as he began to stretch for the fruit Roman had missed. They worked together through the golden afternoon, chatting easily and piling the basket with apples. 

As they reached the final tree, Roman moved around to the back of it, showing Virgil where a crack in the bark had begun to let in rot. "I tried everything," Roman said. "I think it might just become a glorious martyr for the others, so the rot doesn't spread."

Virgil tilted his head as he looked at the tree. "It's still mostly good...maybe it will go away by itself."

"You really think so?" 

"I mean, I'm not sure, but maybe." Virgil nodded his head in consideration before turning back to Roman. "If that's us done, let's get dinner." 

"Let's make Roman make you dinner, you mean," Roman teased. 

"Or that," Virgil said. "I have, uh-" He opened up his hidden pouch and pulled out some twists of paper. "More spices for you. Also-" He pulled out a little sparkly rock. "Cool rock!"

"Thank you! It is cool!" Roman said, accepting the gifts. "Come on, you can sit outside and peel potatoes with me. Earn your keep."

"I don't have a keep to earn," Virgil said sharply. A shadow fell over his face. "Not even as a joke." 

"Fine, fine." Roman rolled his eyes at Virgil’s touchiness. "I'll do all of the potatoes, again-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't help you, just- forget it." Virgil set the apple-basket on his hip and started back to the house ahead of Roman. "How's your dad doing these days?"

"He's well." Roman chose to take the obvious diversion. "The family dog had puppies, so he's delighted at that."

Roman brought out a low stool for Virgil and they worked through the pile of potatoes together.

Roman liked to be neat, but Virgil was almost obsessive, carefully scraping off the thinnest layer of skin he could and digging out eyes with the very tip of his knife. 

"You have done three in the time it took me to finish my pile."

Virgil looked up, as if surprised Roman was still there. "I'm just doing it right!" 

"I thought you were hungry."

"I can do them quicker if you like, jeez." Virgil took off a more reasonable strip of skin. "Look, you lose half the potato."

"Must you argue about everything?"

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirked up. "It takes two to argue, Roman." 

"You argue enough for two people," Roman teased back, standing up and going over to the fire. "I'm going to start or the sun will start setting by dinner-time."

"Alright, alright!" Virgil said."I'm speeding up."

The afternoon began to slip away into a cool evening as they settled down to eat. Roman sat near the fire, leaving Virgil to balance his plate on the doorstep. 

"Where are the spices from?"

"One from a peddler, one from a shop, one...I think was a gift?"

"You'd better not be poisoning me," Roman said, giving Virgil a mock-stern look. 

Virgil laughed. "I make no promises." 

The fire snapped and danced with the wind. Roman shifted closer to the fire and started on his potatoes. "So- where next?"

"I don't know," Virgil said. "Maybe the coast again, before winter sets in."

Roman met Virgil’s eyes, voice softening with his concern so as not to spook his stranger. "Do you have somewhere to stay when it snows?" 

Virgil shrugged. "No, but I'll figure things out."

"You could stay here," Roman offered. "Not for long, just so that I know you're not freezing somewhere."

"I'll be fine, Roman," Virgil said, meeting his eyes. "I appreciate it, I really do, but I'll be fine."

Roman had a few snarky responses to that lined up, but he didn’t want the conversation to be carried away into bickering. He needed Virgil to know he was serious. "I worry about you." 

" _I_ worry about myself; I don't need you to. I always come back here in one piece, don't I?"

"I suppose so." Roman took Virgil's empty plate in for washing. "Still, you also come back hungry and cold, so forgive me for not being entirely convinced." 

Virgil shrugged. "Not that hungry and not that cold. I'm going to go and sleep for now, if that's okay?"

Roman sighed. "Sure, but we'll finish talking in the morning."

Virgil rolled his eyes.

"All I offer is to help you!" Roman protested.

"And I appreciate it," Virgil replied earnestly before he got up. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight.”

Roman woke up to the sound of rain and banging on his door. 

He stumbled out of bed, tugging open the door to see Virgil, silhouetted by the darkness. "Roman! Roman- something's happening-" Virgil broke off as if the air had been pulled from his lungs and he reached out a hand to grab Roman's as he fought for breath. "I- you need to get me out of here, you need to try and move me and I can't- no time to explain just-" 

The instant Roman stepped forward to take Virgil's hands his vision flashed white.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: captivity, compelling voice, overwork, thunderstorm, hypothermia.

When Roman's vision cleared he was no longer in his house. 

There was a man staring at him and Virgil, joy savage and sharp on his features. Boards were nailed over the windows of the room; the only lighting coming from an eerie blue glow from one corner and a small hearth. Damaged panels and a scuffed parquet floor were all he could register before Virgil stumbled back. 

"No," he said in a hollow voice, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no-" 

For a split second everyone was still. Then, a clap of thunder sounded and Virgil bolted for the door. 

Just as fast, the man blocked him and caught him around the waist. 

"No!" Virgil kicked at him. Roman darted forwards to pry him free and the man began to claw and kick at both of them. After a long, nightmarish moment of grunts, red firelight and the deafening roar of the rain, Roman caught ahold of his leg by accident and Virgil _shrieked._

He screamed and the wind howled outside until its cries became one horrendous wail so loud Roman’s legs gave out and covered his ears. As the man weakened, Virgil gained the upper hand. The two of them barrelled past Roman in a sudden storm of heavy footsteps. They hit the wall with a thud.

Roman forced himself to his feet and tried to grab the man by the back of his collar and pull him back. The man pushed Virgil in the glowing corner, before falling back onto Roman, driving an elbow into his side. 

"Roman!" Virgil cried and _ROMAN_ the wind cried. Roman's head smacked against the floor as the man tried to get back to his feet. He groaned and blinked the stars out of his eyes, blindly tugging at the man's ankle to try and trip him. A sharp kick in his side made him curl over like a woodlouse.

"ROMAN!"

"Shut up!" the man roared. All of a sudden it was silent, bar the lashing rain and keening wind. 

Roman twisted to try and see Virgil.

His friend was throwing himself against thin air, mouth clamped shut. He looked to see a glowing blue quarter-circle drawn around the corner. Every time Virgil tried to cross it, something was keeping him back. 

"What the fuck?" he shouted. "What did you do to him?" 

The man used his confusion to break his ankle free and kick him in the head. He cried out, disorientated as he tried to move his hands up to cradle his head. The man took a few strides to grab a rapier from the mantelpiece and point it just over his throat. "I'm asking the questions here!"

Roman went very, very still. Flat on his back with the man towering above him and a blade at his neck, there wasn’t much more he could do. "Okay! Okay,” he said firmly, calmly. 

"How did you get here?" the man barked. 

"You're the one who did the freaky summoning!" 

He scoffed. "I summoned only the spirit. How did _you_ come here?"

He filed 'Virgil is a spirit' as something to freak out about later- for now, it was the only part of the whole situation which made sense. But before he could answer, the man's eyes lit up. 

"Did you receive his favour?" 

The man’s eyes gleamed with promise, and Roman found he much preferred his anger. "What?"

"Did you leave your windows open for him? _Did you receive his favour?_ " 

"What do you mean?" 

"Are you stupid? Did you or did you not leave your windows open for him?"

"I..." Roman looked back over to Virgil, who was still thumping at the walls and against the invisible barrier like a bug in a glass. "Look! He's panicking! Please, just...how about you move your rapier and I'll stand back- you can ask him some questions, and let us go afterwards." 

"Answer my question first."

Virgil shook his head at Roman. 

Roman looked back to the man. "No, he didn't give me his favour." 

Virgil smacked himself in the forehead and emphatically shook his head again, pointing at the man. 

"No, I… won't answer your question?" Roman guessed.

Virgil gave Roman a thumbs-up, then shied back as soon as the man turned to look at him.

The wanderer didn't look scared often. In fact, Roman could think of him reacting to things he didn't like with anger, or changing the subject, or just leaving- but never by allowing himself to show outright fear. He looked terrifiednow. 

The man looked Virgil up and down with a long sigh, without moving the rapier from Roman’s neck. "Behave," he ordered in casual exasperation, and Virgil's knees hit the floor like his strings had been cut. 

"How dare you!" Roman yelled, despite the blade an inch away from his throat. Virgil was completely still, except for his wide eyes and the quickening rise and fall of his chest. "Nobody- _nobody_ tells him what to do!" he exclaimed. 

The man sheathed the rapieras he tilted his head in consideration. "You know him." 

"Fuck you!" He pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I've never seen a more vile human being in my entire life! You _wish_ that you could eat dirt like a worm, because at least worms help break up the soil. You-" 

"Roman, was it?" the man tried to smoothly talk over him, but he wasn't having it. 

"-piece of shit, I'll stab your stab wounds-" 

"I'm the one with the weapon-"

"-and you don't want to know the things I could do to you with a pitchfork!" 

The man pressed his rapier back against Roman's throat and he was forced to drop his head back down to avoid it. "So," he said smugly. "I'll take it that you two _do_ know each other."

"That or I'm a decent person!" Roman snapped. 

The man looked down at him with disdain. "Quite the knight in shining pyjamas."

"You're goddamn right!" 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if Roman was giving him a headache. "Alright. Let us start at the beginning." 

"Yeah! Who the fuck are you?" 

"I'm not stupid enough to tell you my name," the man said. "I am… a researcher of things beyond the mortal plane, you might say. The stories of spirits have long been confined to either pointless folk tales or empty theorizing. I'm not interested in research for the sake of learning. I have come far further in a more… hands-on approach." 

Virgil's chest hitched into a sob. 

“Nobody has tried to _use_ this knowledge, or these beings, before me. Luck..." the man let the word resonate as he savoured the sound of his own voice. "Luck is a fickle thing. Changeable, cruel, unpredictable. As soon as it flies in one window it leaves through the next. So, my aim is childishly simple: close the window on it."

"You can't just kidnap people,” he said, aghast. It would be better if he had the unhinged manner of villains in the stories Roman liked, rather than acting as if everyone else just lacked imagination. 

"I'm not talking about _people_ ," the man snapped. "I'm talking about luck. Luck, and rain. Of course, _having_ is not the same as controlling, which is where finetuning comes in-" 

His stomach dropped. "You've taken spirits before."

"I wish it was more than one! But no. Just him. Exactly how I did it is my own little secret." At his smug little smile, there was an angry flash of lightning through the shutters, before the low thunder rumbled through the room. 

"I can't do everything." The man turned to Virgil and ordered: "Stop the storm."

There was no change in the din of pouring rain.

He rolled his eyes. "He does that when he's throwing a tantrum, but I'm working on it. Besides, the background effects of having him here are...quite something. Finding my quills just as I stop looking, nobody happening to stop by and bother me, and I haven’t had a pest infestation in months. It’s like having a personal lucky charm." 

Roman so badly wanted to stop the man from talking about Virgil like that, to at least try and reassure his friend- but Patton always said that being listened to was the only thing which made people talk. He didn't have any way but the man to find out how they could get away. He swallowed back his protests. 

"What do you need luck for?" This room alone was half the size of Roman's house already, and it looked like it belonged to a larger building.

"Buried treasure, that's what I need it for," he said. "A more specific luck than I've been able to find for quite some time…” He sighed. “But things went even worse after his escape. Anyhow. The treasure is all I really need." 

Roman laughed in disbelief. "Why not just dig it up? Or hire people to do it if you're too lazy?" 

"Oh, I never thought of that," the man sneered. "This treasure has been lost for hundreds of years. I won’t risk losing it to a light-fingered labourer, or wasting my time digging up ground which has been turned over before."

"What if it's just gone?"

"It's not!" he spat. Roman tried to press himself into the floor as the blade began to shake. "It's not! I just have to find it!" 

He waited until he could manage a placating edge to his voice. "And once you have it...then you'll let Virgil go?" 

"Of course,” he said, watching for Roman’s reaction.

"What if I find it?" he blurted out.

"What do you mean, what if you find it?"

Virgil was far from Roman's closest friend. But as little as he saw him, he could put together the pattern of what he’d written off as ticks. His endless wandering, never staying longer than a day, his insistence on independence and saying what he liked, even sleeping in the rain: yes, Virgil was a spirit- but he'd also been on the run for as long as Roman knew him. 

"I'll find the treasure, and then you’ll let us go,” he said more firmly. 

The man finally drew his rapier away from Roman’s neck. "I don't have any time to delay. You’ll have to stay here and pull your weight properly."

"I have a farm," he interjected. "Can I at least send word back to my father, so it’ll be taken care of?" 

"I will monitor what you write, but I could concede to that,” he said. He seemed to be proud of his magnanimity. 

"Okay," he said. "Okay." 

"I can see how this might work," the man said slowly, "but there's something to check first." 

Although Virgil couldn't get past the barrier, the man's hand easily passed through it to tilt up the spirit's chin. "You can speak and move now."

Virgil jerked back his head and tried to push his back into the walls for just a few inches of extra distance. 

The man tutted. "Do I have to order you into everything or will you remember for once?"

Virgil slowly lifted his eyes to meet the man's. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he moved forward. 

"Good." The man didn't need to put his hand back under his chin to keep Virgil from ducking his head and hiding the tics of a lie; he did it anyway. 

"It's a bad deal," Virgil said behind gritted teeth. He met the man’s eyes straight on, burning with frustrated rage. The light beneath him threw his face into shadow. "He's bluffing. He doesn't know what he's talking about, and he's not going to have any more luck finding the treasure than you are." 

The man dropped his head. After he carefully wiped away the rain from Virgil's skin with a small square of a handkerchief, he offered that same hand to Roman. "Well then. We have a deal." 

Virgil shook his head at Roman. "It's really not worth it," he said in a low voice. The man stepped back and folded his arm, watching for Roman’s reaction with amusement. 

"Why- why not?" Roman asked him nervously. 

"He's tricking you. He tricked me too. Don't be stupid."

"Stupid is my middle name," he said. "Right after Chivalry." 

"Roman," Virgil warned. 

Roman knelt by him so that they were on the same eye level, ignoring the knowledge of the man’s eyes on his back. "I can't just leave you here, Virgil. Spirit or not, you're my friend."

His eyes widened, and softened slightly. Then he ducked them away from the farmer’s gaze. "I barely see you.” His voice was a fragile imitation of his usual teasing. 

"You helped me with my orchard,” he replied. "I like our conversations. And the weirdly fussy way you peel potatoes. And the fact that even if I'm rude to you by accident you're even ruder back on purpose so I really don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing too much. And I know you're probably already scared because of the walls, let alone the, uh, creepy man who is listening to this-"

Virgil's breath hitched into a noise which was half a laugh and half a sob.

"So, you are my friend. And maybe I thought you were banging on my door at 3 am because you were just feeling ill, but I will endeavour to deal with the slightly bigger problem-" He laughed slightly hysterically. "But, in all seriousness- if my dream is to be a hero, and you just want to be free- how couldn't I help you now?"

He ducked his head into his chest. "You're not being a hero; you're being dumb. Just fuck off."

"That doesn’t work on me," he said gently.

Virgil reached out his hand to the barrier, and Roman reached his hand out to meet it. He laced their fingers together, underlit by that glowing blue. Virgil's hand was still slightly damp, more like rain than the dampness of a frog, and it was solid to Roman's touch. He had imagined spirits as more airy and ethereal. But, then, he had not exactly believed in them before.

Virgil squeezed his hand. "Fine, so I won’t be fine. But you have a farm and a family and shit. Your Dad'll want to see you again."

“And he will," Roman said, with an ease he didn’t feel. "I promise."

"I'm telling you not to do this."

"Only one of us can be dumb and sacrificial and you don't have the hair for it," Roman said. He tugged Virgil up by their joined hands as he stood up. "I'm going to do it anyhow, Virge. Can I at least have your blessing?"

He paused before he shook his head. "No. I would be happier here if you left." 

"We won't be here forever. And you love me, really!" A tiny laugh huffing through Virgil’s nose. Roman let go of him, and held his hand out to the man. "Okay. I’ll find the treasure; you let Virgil and I go." 

The man shook Roman's hand. "It's a deal."

The three of them paused: Virgil folding his arms, Roman standing brave and tall, and the man oozing smugness, his earlier anger completely dissipated. 

"So," the man said, his wide grin lit blue by the glowing light, "grab your shovel."

Roman baulked. "What?"

"There's no time like the present," the man said, a smirk growing on his face. "So, start digging."

"It is the middle of the night! There’s a storm outside!" 

Virgil folded his arms and turned away from Roman in a silent 'I told you so'. Or perhaps he couldn't bear to watch, but Roman much preferred the sassy option. 

The enjoyment the man derived from his protest was palpable. "The spirit is the one causing the storm, and you got here in the middle of the night. It's not my problem."

Roman gathered himself. "Fine. I'll start immediately."

There was a rumble of thunder. 

"At least the soil won't be all dried up."

Another crash of it.

The man led Roman down a hallway and through a boot room with a pile of shovels and a range of cloaks hung up on the wall. It smelt of damp, and black mould speckled the brick walls. Outside the research room, everything in the manor seemed to be falling into decay. 

Roman grabbed a shovel and reached for a cloak, but the man made a prohibitive noise in the back of his throat. He stopped, confused. "What?"

"Technically," the man said, "I don't have to give you a shovel. But I did. You don't also need a cloak."

"You don't need to haze me," said Roman, in the tone of a reasonable man. "There is literally no need to do this. I am in my pyjamas as is. I have accepted your task."

"I don't care,” said the man, in the tone of a man above reason. He tugged the door open. The wind swirled into the room with a shower of rain. "Come back by nightfall or the deal's off."

He faltered. "Can I not...am I not coming back before then?"

"You can, but the door will be locked."

He looked the man dead in the eye. "And what's to stop me smashing your brain with the shovel right now?"

"Then the spirit is stuck in that corner forever." 

"I don't even have _shoes."_

The man didn't even say anything, just stood and waited.

Roman wanted a final retort at the very least, but his mind was completely empty of them. He squared his shoulders and stepped outside. The door banged shut behind him.

*

The water was a deluge, almost sheet-thick, and it drummed against his head. It was like buckets upending over him, or the type of constant monsoon which hit his farm only every few years. In an instant, his hair had been plastered to his face and his pyjamas clung to his skin. His bare feet sunk into thick mud. 

The cold came so suddenly it was as though it had always been there, stinging and biting. The wind skirled and keened, shrieking into his ears. In the moonlight, the low hills rolling out in every direction looked like a featureless ocean untroubled by the rain. Roman realised that, perhaps, he had made a mistake.

The thunder broke in his chest first, a massive pang of vibration and grief. Then, the sound- a sob echoed a thousand times, a crowd roaring in anguish, a world-shattering cacophony. Lightning fractured the sky into pieces, lit the trees into skeletons and turned the rain into glass spears from the sky. 

_Oh, Virgil._

He let out a heavy sigh before squaring his shoulders. So, he needed to dig? He wasn't some slimy 'researcher'; he was a farmer, and he knew how to dig. There wasn't a better motivation than this storm made of all the fear his friend hid behind rolled eyes and snapping remarks during his toothless fight against the barrier. If it would roll the weeping clouds away and reveal a calm blue sky, then he could work until he’d reached his treasure. 

"For Virgil," he said, softly, but the next boom of thunder drowned him out. He squared his shoulders. "For Virgil!" he yelled, raising his spade skyward. 

Roman squelched out into the distance, bowing his head against the storm, and tried to work out where he could find the lost treasure. The landscape blurred into a mass of black and grey without a single indication of where it might be. 

He carried on wandering until he made the shelter of a small forest. The ominous creaking from the branches suggested they were ready to fall, but at least the rain drummed on his head with less abandon under the canopy.

Roman journeyed through the tight-packed trees for a period of time he couldn't even guess at, wondering if Virgil could deliver a feeling of luck, or anything special at all, to tell him where to dig. There was nothing. Eventually, he just had to pick a spot and start.

The ground gave easily, at least, but as soon as he scooped it out rainwater began to rush in to form a deep puddle. He drove the end of the spade in again, lifting out another pile of mud, then dumped it to the side. Again- and again- so he could settle into a rhythm. He set his feet firmly. The exercise should have begun to warm him, but the cold had set an ache deep into his muscles. Still, he tried to focus on the simple motions: digging in the spade, pulling up, tossing the dirt to the side. Easy to do. Usually he would sing, but he was too tired to. He played a work song in his head over the chattering of his teeth. 

His hole full of water got a little deeper.

Finding a lost treasure- he hadn't even asked what it was! He supposed he'd know it when he saw it, glinting gold or a locked strongbox- but if the man had been nothing like the villain he might have expected, then, in all likelihood, the treasure wasn’t either. He pushed the thought away. He just needed to concentrate on making a deep hole here, maybe widening it out into a trench, and then moving somewhere else and making a start there. He had until next nightfall. That was more than long enough!

Roman began to make some progress after...he didn’t even know how many hours. The rain lashed his back and the wind howled in his ears and he thought he'd get used to this, but when the next flash of lightning split the sky he still jumped with a curse. 

"I'm coming, Virgil," he grumbled. His friend’s anger being taken out on his like this was beginning to wear him thin and exhausted. 

There was a snap of thunder.

"I'm coming!" he yelled, as if the two of them were bickering. He leaned down to dig further but the hole was too narrow for him to swing his shovel back without risking toppling in. He knew with grim certainty the only way to continue was jumping down. Not a problem, if not for the pool of water there- 

He could always just leave the hole and start a new one, but nobody buried treasure in a place which was this shallow. "What do you say? I'm already soaked." 

The wind kept on shrieking, which seemed as good an indication as any. 

Roman balanced his shovel on the side and hopped down. The water was so freezing he first thought that the lightning had boiled it. He hopped up and down, half trying to get his feet out and half hoping he would adjust to it better that way.

He didn't. 

But he picked up his spade and stabbed it into the wall of the hole, cutting out the bottom so the wall tumbled down and he had more room to play with. That made it a little easier. Heartened, he began to scoop that dirt out of the hole, throwing it up to the surface using the whole arc of his space.

When had Virgil woken him up in a panic? How long had they talked to the man? Why was the dawn sky not lifting the clouds away? Thoughts began to hit him to the rhythm of his digging. 

It stayed dark, and it stayed freezing, and all the world's oceans were being poured into his little ditch. His feet went numb first, then the rest of him. His shoulders were burning; somehow they remained cold. He knew, theoretically, that he could stop digging, or at least try a new spot. But, exhausted and aching, he couldn't focus on more than one thought at once; and as even the questions slipped out of his mind, his only thoughts circled around how to keep digging.

He barely noticed the sobs of thunder moving to hide behind the hills, or the rain beginning to calm into a gradual drumming or the wind rushing rather than biting. Dawn broke like a promise in a dribble of grey light and anticlimax of birds’ disgruntled chirping.

Roman paused, dropping his shovel and leaning his head back against the top of the hole. "Please, just stop raining." His voice was muffled to his own ears. "I know you're scared. Please just stop the rain." 

The rain kept falling. 

He couldn't go on any longer. He tried to push himself up and out of the hole, but his arms shook and gave. He tried again, kicking his legs up against the dirt-wall, but his mud-slicked feet couldn't make any purchase. The farmer knew he could work longer than this- on sleep and a full stomach, without his muscles wasting energy on the shivers which racked through him. 

He took his spade and knocked some footholds into the side of the hole. Then, he laid his spade over the hole, dug the side and the handle into the mud so he could pull himself up on it. He only had enough energy for one shot. 

"Luck would help, Virge," he breathed out. 

Then, he jumped up, feeling the footholds and running his feet up them as a sharp, searing pain stabbed into his shoulders. He launched himself up and hit the ground chest-first. 

He lay still for a moment before he began to slide back. Wriggling like a fish, he pulled his legs out of the trench and finally managed to flip himself over. As he lay flat on the earth, a spasm racked through his back and ripped a groan from him. Still, between trying to move and pulling it further and the exhaustion weighing him down, he chose to collapse into sleep where he was. 

*

When Roman woke, it was still drizzling. He blinked at the greyish light filtering through the branches above for a moment and his memory filtered in too. Spirits, he didn’t even know how to process all that had happened. So, instead he tucked it away and decided to focus on his task. He pushed himself up on aching arms. With a huff of breath, he bent over to try and massage feeling back into his feet- they were blue when he sat up to look at them. He bit his lip at the pins-and-needles. 

Eventually, he managed to stand and look down at his hole from last night. It was almost as deep as he was tall. He didn't know if it was worth digging further... 

Maybe somewhere new would be luckier- he needed a walk to stretch out anyway. Rolling back his stiff shoulders, he picked up his spade and set out of the woods. With feeling back in his feet and more visibility it was hard to avoid the prick of pine needles and the slime of wet leaves. 

He bowed his head and ignored the sensation of raindrops trickling down the back of his neck. Nobody said it was easy to be a hero. He reminded himself of the stakes. They were so bizarre, set against his previous dilemma about the rotting tree. 

As he broke the forest’s cover, the building he'd come from rose into view. It was a large manor, all hard lines and corners standing sharp against the soggy countryside. Its peeling white paint had turned grey with age and dirt, and wood panels were nailed over the elegant arches of the windows. There were no other buildings in sight. 

The field before him was poked with holes, though as he went to inspect them he couldn't say that he was impressed. They were too wide and too shallow, with new plants sprouting in the bottom of most of them. The man had barely even managed to dig through the fertile topsoil of the area, let alone to the seam of clay Roman had reached the night before. 

He squelched through the thin layer of water and grass, hopped down into one of the holes, and began to dig through the young roots. Ignoring the protest of his shoulders and back, he gritted his teeth and decided to take a break once he'd dug about as deep as his hole in the woods.

The day dragged on in increments of digging and hurting, resting and aching. Roman's fantasies slowly shifted from saving Virgil to just being dry. 

As the sunlight dripped down below the hills the rain began to peter off and Roman made his slow trek to the backdoor he'd come out of. Digging all day had drained him of any energy and he collapsed to sit on the ground without looking, as he waited outside the door. He couldn’t begin to care about the cold water seeping into his trousers from the ground. 

The man was wrapped in a thick, red smoking-jacket. A satisfied smile grew on his face as he looked down on Roman’s drenched and miserable form. "I take it you were unsuccessful?" 

He glared at him. "I was." He got up to his feet, slower than he would have liked. 

The man stepped aside to let him in. The sudden warmth of the house stung his face, hands and feet. As the man led him back to the room Virgil was in, Roman rubbed his hands together and tried not to stumble over his tingling feet. He rubbed the feeling back into his face as the man ran his hands over a complex series of runes which glowed at his touch.

The spirit was curled up in a little ball, facing away from the door. He didn't move or acknowledge them coming in. The incessant rain which had tormented Roman beat against the windows. After the mud and vegetation of outside, the room smelt even more musty and stale.

The man handed Roman some towels and a large, worn quilt. Then he gestured to a bowl of stew on one of the workbenches. "For securities' sake you can stay in here, but I ask you not to touch any of my instruments. It would...displease me."

"Oh, fuck you," he said, too exhausted to put up with vague threats when he was so close to resting. 

"You ought to be more grateful for what I've just given you,” he reprimanded. “I could take it away just as easily."

Roman rolled his eyes and made his way over to the stew, which was the most important thing here. 

The door banged shut behind the man, and a heavy lock clicked shut.

Roman pulled off his soaking pyjama shirt and started to towel off his hair and chest. Even that sent twinges through his arms and into his back, like the tension on a lute-string wound too tight. "Virge?"

There was a muffled noise from the Virgil-ball.

"I'm going to take my trousers off, don't turn around." 

Another noise, which he decided to take as assent. 

He slowly dried off, wincing slightly, and laid his wet pyjamas over a chair and a...spinning wheel? flat globe? Whatever it was, it was the right shape to hold his shirt. Throwing aside the damp towel, he tied another one tightly over his waist, then cocooned himself in the quilt. He grabbed the bowl and sat down near Virgil's little corner with a thud. Having wrapped his feet up in the bottom of the quilt for extra warmth, he rubbed them together like a cricket to massage the feeling back. 

Virgil didn't move from where he'd buried his head in his knees. 

Too tired to deal with that right now, Roman started in on the lukewarm stew. It still felt hot against his teeth. He devoured it in minutes without registering the taste. His centre stayed frozen, even as warmth stung and curled into his skin. As soon as he set the bowl aside, sleep began to tug on him. But first- "Virgil?"

"Mm?"

"Are you alright?" he asked gently. 

Virgil uncurled, then turned around to look at Roman. His eyes were puffy and he had tear-tracks down his face. "Does it _sound_ like I'm alright?" he growled. The wind keened outside. 

"Hey, I was the one outside in all that," Roman snapped back. "My apologies for not appreciating your sad-storm enough."

Virgil drew back into his corner. "I told you to go. See? You're regretting staying here a day in."

"I am _trying_ to help you." 

"I didn't ask for you to help me," he snapped. "I told you to leave."

"All I ask of you is to be a little nicer to me-"

Virgil’s face clouded over. "I don't owe you anything." 

Roman didn't want to argue. "Please, then?” he snarked. “Is that it? Please can you not pick a fight with me just because you feel bad? I have a lot to say about some of us being nice and dry and warm while the other is getting soaked by the one who doesn’t have to feel it. So can you be nice to me for once, oh, pretty please?" 

"I'm sorry." Virgil scrubbed a hand over his face. His voice broke and Roman realised that fighting him would have been easier. "I'm _sorry_ , Roman. I can't stop it. I'm not doing it on purpose, I swear. I _know_ I should be calmer by now, but it's just worse."

"Would kinda...be easier if you just cried," Roman quipped, not too sure how to deal with an upset Virgil.

He laughed through his nose. "Wish I'd thought of that one."

Comfort things, comfort things… "Do you maybe want one of my blankets?"

Virgil scrunched up his nose. "One of the ones you're naked in? Ew, no."

"You dare slight my fine blankets?" Roman made an offended gasp. He didn’t have his heart in it, but he knew Virgil would find it amusing. Virgil did laugh, and a little breeze ruffled the papers on the desk.

"So what did you do all day?" Roman asked. 

He hunched his shoulders into a shrug. "Panicked, cried, panicked, tried to stop the storm, tried to do some kind of luck thing, maybe cried some more- that was about it." 

"Did he come in at all?"

His shrug tightened until his arms were wrapped around his knees again. He ducked his head, hiding his eyes behind his hair. "I guess." 

"He's an asshole."

His tired eyes ruined his attempt at a smile. "Yeah, duh."

"He said that if I killed him you'd be stuck there forever. Is that true?"

"I don't actually know. He could be bluffing, but does he need to?"

Roman huddled deeper into his blankets. His eyes began to drag closed as the cold finally began to seep out of him, but his mind wouldn’t stop whirring. He yawned, before asking in a quiet voice, "Say, how did you get out before?"

"Dumb accident," Virgil said. "He was trying to improve the control system in here and the barrier came down. I dunno why. I was just trying to knock him out by hitting him with a thing, but then I crash-landed in a field a day or two's walk from you."

"A thing?"

"One of the instruments, but I couldn't tell you what it was." 

Roman hummed. "Do you think maybe you could take me with you again by travelling that way?"

"I'm sorry about that," he said almost as soon as Roman finished speaking. "I didn't mean to take you- I just panicked. I didn't know it could do that. I thought maybe, if you took me away, then the pull would go away too." He paused and fiddled with his hands. "... It was the tree."

"What?"

"I think he tracked me because I tried to fix your tree."

"You tried to fix it for me?" Roman asked softly.

"I… yeah, it's not really what I… do, but I figured I could take a crack at it," Virgil said. "I wasn't at full strength- and I kind of knew it might trigger a warning for him- but nothing had done it before- so I guessed it might be okay- but then I started feeling the _tugging-_ "

He closed his eyes. "Virgil, I am very tired and very stupid, you need to slow down, Spirit-ed Away."

"What?"

"You wouldn't get it."

Virgil shook his head. "Okay. The point is that I thought healing your tree might signal him, but that it would be fine if I left early, like with the rain that one time. So it's all my fault and I didn't tell you that before, when I was convincing you, because I thought the 'being tricked'-stuff would make more sense for you. But clearly that didn't work and now- now I roped you into it." 

Once he had closed his eyes, Roman didn't have the energy to open them up again. "So, you thought your magic things might signal him but did them anyway?"

"Kind of," he said. "But I wasn't just using it recklessly- I need to help people. That’s just what I do. I needed to get back to normal."

"Okay. Sure. Fine; I don't really care," Roman said, shifting to try and lie down fully. He had officially reached his limit for how much longer he could be awake. "Go to sleep and-"

Virgil dropped off as easily as a candle was blown out.

"Oh, no! No, I didn't- wake up?"

His eyes snapped back open. 

Roman winced. "So direct orders are a no-no."

"How long was I out?" Virgil said in a panic, eyes darting around the room. 

"Two seconds, two seconds, I swear!" He held his hands up. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm so sorry."

Virgil exhaled and leaned back."'S okay. I'm fine." A peal of thunder sounded outside and the rain pounded down harder. 

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Really, stormcloud?"

"Go to sleep yourself," he grumbled. "You need to rest, you had a hard day."

"No need to tell me twice," Roman replied with a fake and fragile cheerfulness. He fell asleep almost immediately, watched over by the spirit.


	3. Chapter 3

Roman woke up to a low voice.

The man was back, sitting on a low stool with a loaf of bread beside him, just outside the boundary. Virgil was pressed into the back of his corner, legs pulled in front of his chest. His brow was furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut as if he was concentrating. 

There was a clatter of dice.

"Six, six, four. Try harder."

He didn't reply and the man sighed and noted the score down in a little book. He rolled the dice again.

"Six, three, five. You're getting worse. That’s _less._ Even you can get that." 

He pursed his lips and turned his face away, rolling his eyes. 

He made a sharp “ah” sound and held up a finger. "Don't be a brat." 

Roman tensed, waiting for the spirit's behaviour to snap into something different, but apparently the instruction wasn't specific enough to have any effect. Still, Virgil looked back at the man without a scowl, and this time when the man rolled the dice-

“Two, one, three. Is that more or less?”

He barely opened his mouth. “L’ss.” 

“What’s the score, then?” he asked in a patronising voice. “What’s the number? Two plus one plus three. Count up the dots on the dice.”

Virgil scowled. Shame twisted to overlay the landscape of his face like the shadow of a cloud dappling the ground. “You know spirits are above these things,” he spat. “There is no meaning in numbers connected to nothing, or being pedantic about amounts-”

“Go again.” He rolled the dice. After a pause, he raised a slightly impressed eyebrow.

"Six, six...six. Was that so hard?" The man tore a piece of bread off the load and held it out towards Virgil. "For the score." 

His hands tightened around his sides. "That's not what we're playing for." 

The man dropped the bread on the ground, just outside the circle, and picked up the dice again. "Your loss,” he said in a cheerfully patronising tone. 

Roman didn't know what was happening but he didn't like it. He pushed himself on an elbow before remembering that he was, in fact, stark naked under his blankets. "Good morning," he said with a winning grin. "Could you possibly just pass me my pyjamas?"

The man stood up and grabbed the pyjamas between his finger and thumb, dropping them in front of him in disgust. Dried mud had encrusted them, and Roman feared the cheerful polka-dot pattern would never look the same again. 

"Seriously?" Virgil said to the man. "You need to get him actual clothes now." As the man turned to raise his eyebrows at Virgil’s tone, Roman wiggled on his wrinkled pyjamas under the quilt. "He'll get pneumonia or hypothermia or something," Virgil continued. "And then he won't be able to help you at all.” He dropped his eyes, drawing up his strength from a moment under the damp curtain of his hair, before he forced his eyes up to look at the man’s. They were steady- and angry- and holding back that anger. “Please, I'm _asking_ you to get him some clothes and shoes."

"You're the one who made the rain, aren't you?" Something in the way he spoke to Virgil specifically set Roman's teeth on edge. He thought he was smarter than the farmer, but he was cruel, not patronising. With Virgil, it was as if he didn't stop talking down to him for a moment he'd be forced to fight in the game for control the spirit had already lost.

"It's not raining now, and it's still cold." Despite his defence, the spirit still looked guilty.

"Clothes, shoes, a cloak- I never agreed to provide all of that."

"He'll work better. It will mean he doesn't get sick," he pressed.

As Roman pushed off the quilt to reveal the pyjamas in all their badly-dried glory, the man wavered. He waved a hand as if to illustrate how little he cared in the first place. "Fine. I'll get them for him."

Roman grinned at Virgil.

"If-" the man added, "-you take your reward for the dice roll."

Virgil scowled at him and the man laughed. "Well?"

Virgil ducked his head, still scowling. "Fine, whatever."

The man picked up the bread from the floor and Virgil went forward onto his knees and laid out a flat hand to receive it.

"Manners," the man chided. 

"Please," he spat. 

Then, when the bread was in his hand an equally vitriolic: "Thank you."

Deliberately slow, Virgil brushed it off and bit off the smallest amount he could. He leant back and glared at the man as he took another tiny bite. 

"Finish it by the time I come back," the man ordered before he left, taking his dice and the rest of the bread with him. Virgil flipped him off behind his back.

Roman averted his eyes. "Um- thank you, Virgil. For the clothes."

"Don't fucking thank me," he snarled at him.

He shied back. "I'm sorry! I was just trying to be nice."

Virgil bit off a retort as his eyes caught Roman’s expression. Pushing back his anger seemed like a physical effort which involved letting out a long exhale and closing his eyes. He opened them a moment later and said: "The clothes are a right; not a gift."

Roman nodded. He opened his mouth to lament the destruction of his nice pyjamas, then decided it wasn’t the time. He picked a more neutral topic. "So… spirits need to eat, then?"

"You’ve seen me eat before."

"No, but the whole...spirit part is where I'm tripping up." 

Virgil rolled his eyes. "No, we technically don't need to eat. We need to be given things- usually food."

"So it's the giving, not the eating?"

"I can taste the stuff too, you know,” he replied, annoyed.

"I mean...I didn’t know spirits could taste? But I'm glad you at least enjoyed that part of my meals!"

"Yeah, they're pretty good.” Virgil tore off part of his bread, rolled it in a ball, then threw it at the barrier. His hand automatically shot out to catch it. He shrugged and continued, “The, uh, cat analogy isn't so far off. I need people to give me stuff- offerings, I guess. And I give stuff back but like- as friends, you know?" 

"Right." That did add up with his visits. "So just now he had to give you something to keep you alive?" 

"That wasn't giving," Virgil corrected darkly. "That was trading."

Roman's brow furrowed. "Oh?"

"It wasn't for _me_. It's for me doing something for him. For the deal, or for the _manners_." 

"What’s the difference?"

"I don't know. I don't get full. I'm not meant to trade and be bound this way; it's not good for me."

"Okay. And what was the, uh-" Roman mimicked how flat Virgil's hand had been.

The spirit gave him a savage smile. "That's because as soon as he puts his hand near me he knows I might tear his fucking skin off." 

Roman's eyes widened and he laughed in shock.

"Seriously," Virgil said. "He tried to freeze all of me but my head once and I damn near bit his thumb off.”

"Sweet spitting spirits," he said. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks." He tried to hand the last half of the bread out to Roman. "Do you think it technically counts as finishing if you eat the last part?"

Roman put his hand through and tried to take the bread off him, but as soon as he tugged it away Virgil's fingers locked more tightly around it.

"Ah, sorry.” 

He shrugged, trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at him. "No problem."

"It would have been a nice gift," Virgil mused.

"Yeah, I guess." Roman got up fully, and began to stretch out. He let out a small, pained sound as he tried to raise his arms over his head. Virgil winced in response. "Don't push yourself too much today, if you can?"

"I'm fine," he said cheerily, gritting his teeth and attempting to make a windmill with his arms. "I'm no delicate spirit, Virgil, I'm a farmer. I'm used to hard work."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't put your back out on day two."

"I won't, I won't,” he said. "As long as you promise to try and not rain on me again?"

Virgil shifted in a hunched half-shrug. "I can only promise to try.”

"You should get up too!" Roman said. "Being bent over like that isn't good for you."

"I am not doing exercise with you."

Roman tried to reach over and touch his toes but that wouldn't happen on a usual day. "Bet you can't touch your toes."

"I'm not falling for that."

"So you can't touch your toes." Roman reached down a little more. 

"I'm not falling for it."

"That's what you say, but really-"

Virgil stuffed the last of the bread in his mouth, leapt to his feet with preternatural swiftness, then folded himself in half and pressed both his palms flat onto the floor. His hair flopped down over his triumphant, upside-down grin.

Okay, so maybe Roman had baited him into that, but he was still a little put out that Virgil had beaten him.

The door opened and Virgil straightened in an instant. The man handed Roman a pile of clothes and some dirty but sturdy boots. "Be ready in five minutes." 

"Sure, whatever," Roman said. 

The door closed again.

Virgil turned away from Roman as he tugged on the new clothes, groaning as his back twinged and pulled. They were adequate, if a little baggy. They’d most likely been worn by some servant before. "Do you ever change clothes?" Roman asked.

"Nah." 

"Fair, I suppose." He looked at his boots, looked back at Virgil, and with his back aching from pulling on his shirt considered asking his friend to lace them even as he decided that would be the shittiest thing he could do in their positions. Instead, he lifted his foot up onto the chair and carefully did one set of laces, and then the other. This did not, he reflected, as his back twinged, bode well. 

"I am trying to give you luck," Virgil said, still turned away from him. "But it's not precise. I can wish for more or less, not a number of something. Numbers are…” He waved a hand through the insubstantial air. “Like the dice, they don’t work for me. The good roll was coincidence-"

"Don't tell him that."

"I'm not _stupid_. But still- I just...don't hope too much."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear," Roman said brightly, standing up again. "Well, regardless..." He tried to put on a brave voice. "I'll use my ingenuity, and strength, and heroism-"

The man reappeared and Roman cut off his speech in relief. Even his acting skills and natural courage couldn’t easily maintain a brave front.

He waved goodbye to Virgil before he followed the man out to the exit again, tying his cloak and picking up the shovel as he set out into the waterlogged country once again, grateful at least for the small mercy of a clear sky.

Roman trudged out and away from the mansion. "Treasure, treasure, treasure-" he called. "Treasure, treasure- try and give me some luck, Virgil." 

He decided to set out further. Reaching a grassy hillock, he figured there was as good a place as any to start. 

As soon as he began, everything hurt. The cloak got in his way, and he should have ditched it once the digging began to warm him, but he didn't want to be cold again. A few hours in he had raised blisters on his hands; by noon they had burst and reformed.

On his first hole, he focused on riding through the aching and digging. On the second, he began to burn with rage at the man again. On the third, he worried about his chickens who were waiting to be fed and hoped they would be alright until his father got to them. On the fourth, there was a sudden squall of wind and it began to storm again, so he had to turn his attention back to just digging.

Night fell soon after he began to slice the turf for a fifth hole.

Roman pulled his hood up, as he had the night before, and waited outside, as he had the night before. Like he had the night before, the man opened the door for Roman, and gave Roman towels and a bowl of stew. Unlike before, however, Virgil was frozen in the corner, kneeling and with his mouth shut tight. A few instruments were laid out around his circle, along with more dice of various sizes scattered over a map. 

Roman looked between Virgil and the man, who didn't offer an explanation as to what had happened. "What- are you going to just leave him like that?" he asked the man. 

"Why not?"

"But why?" Roman repeated, horrified. 

"He was misbehaving again." The man fixed Roman with a stern look he didn’t have the natural authority to carry. "Don't touch my instruments, understand? I'll make him tell me if you do."

"I'm not interested in your instruments,” he said. "I have something else to ask- that letter to my father?" 

"Oh, yes, that-" The man carefully tore a page out the back of his research book and handed it to Roman, along with a stub of pencil. "I'll check it tomorrow."

Since he refused to thank him, Roman nodded and just took the paper. "Goodnight."

"I'll be back by morning."

Roman turned back to Virgil as soon as the door closed behind the man. "Can I ask you to come out of that?"

The spirit widened his eyes at Roman, but that could have meant anything. 

"Come out of that?" he tried. Nothing happened.

Virgil rolled his eyes. 

Roman thought back to the last time- was it really only two nights ago? "You can move and speak?" 

Virgil relaxed. "Took you long enough," he grumbled in a rough voice.

"It was like two seconds!" He shovelled a spoonful of stew into his mouth with one hand and took off his cloak with the other. "How long?"

"Couple hours," he said. "Oh, and move his shit all you like- he can't tell me what to do with my powers, what to say, or what to think. He can't do jackshit, really." He stiffly shifted off his knees and back to sitting down.

"Plus I can also use the instruction thing,” Roman added with a nod, “which I don't think he’s realised."

Virgil tried to cross his stiff legs, using his hands to pull them into place. "So it's basically nothing. Embarrassing for him."

Roman towelled his hair down. "Trying to figure out where the treasure is again?"

"Yeah, using dice and maps," Virgil said. "It's so dumb. How was your day?" 

"Oh, you know," he said. "Dug a hole. Dug another hole. And onwards on my heroic journey!"

"Sorry for the rain. I tried, I swear, but I just-"

"It's fine," he interrupted him. "It wasn't so bad today. You did well against that foul villain."

Virgil rolled his eyes again, but the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. 

Roman handed Virgil the bowl through the barrier. "If I give you a very special single chunk of meat will that be like the same as a full meal?"

Virgil's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

He paused, nervous. "Can I not- was that rude?"

"No, that's- that's really nice, actually." He gently picked out a piece from the top with the tip of his fingers so he didn't touch anything else. "Here we are."

"It's a special piece of meat!" Roman said. "Which I dedicate to my good friend Virgil! With no strings! Freely given!"

Virgil snickered and popped it into his mouth. "Thank you."

He handed the bowl back up to Roman, who was more grateful than he liked to admit that Virgil didn't need more than that. A full day of digging had left him famished. Some colour returned into Virgil's face. It was the pink flush of a sunset Roman noticed now, a little to the left of normal. 

He hung up his cloak, kicked off his shoes and settled down with his bowl again. "So- what do we know about the treasure?" he asked Virgil. 

Virgil met his eyes. "Nothing. I don't even know what it is.”

For a moment, Roman just stared at him in horror. "How can we find it if we don't know what it is?" he burst out. "That's impossible! Didn't you ever ask him?" 

"Oh, no, of course, I didn't ask him," Virgil snapped. "Didn't even think to try that when I was stuck here for seasons and seasons by myself! Even when he's so easy to fight with I couldn't bring myself to ask the simple question-" 

"You don't know what you're looking for," Roman repeated hollowly. 

"I'm not the one looking for it," Virgil scowled. "I'm just another instrument. He doesn't think I need to know, or he won't tell me- it all adds up to the same." 

"I'm never going to find it," Roman said, putting his hands on his head. "It's a wild goose chase. I can't- I don't even know what _size_ of thing I'm looking for."

Virgil turned his face from him. "I told you to leave,” he said flatly

"And we're back here again!" Roman let his head hang back to thud against the wall. "I'm too tired for this."

"I'm not feeling guilty for something you chose to do."

"Said with the tone of a man- or, well, a spirit- who very much does sound guilty."

Virgil let out a long exhale. "Fine. I feel guilty. I didn't- I don't want to hurt anyone else because of this situation I got myself into... Especially you."

"It's not your fault you're here. And you don't have to be guilty for me, I...actually did choose to be here. Because I want to help you.” Roman gave Virgil a soft smile.

He paused, tilting his head as he thought, before he simply said, "You're a good man, Roman." 

Roman burst into tears.

Virgil started back, holding his hands up. "Hey, hey, I meant that as a good thing-"

Roman, exhausted and hurt and scared, couldn't hold back his flood of hiccupping tears as the stress of the past few days suddenly caught up with him.

"Hey, uh-" Virgil held a hand up to the barrier. "Roman, it's- I'm here. You are good, yeah? You really are, goodness, you gave me food all those times and the meadow-"

At the mention of his home, the farmer only cried harder.

With that course of action exhausted, he shifted forwards and opened up his arms, an imitation of what he'd seen humans do. "Cuddles? Maybe?"

Roman shuffled over in his quilt and Virgil wrapped his arms tight around the whole, big bundle of him. The spirit’s neck was cool and damp as Roman buried his face against it, but the solid feeling of having another person holding him was so, so nice. His dad would have hugged him-

Virgil moved his arms awkwardly to pat at Roman's back and hair, trying to figure out if the renewed bout of weeping meant he was doing things right. Hopefully raining out his tears was best for Virgil's human.

After a while, Roman tuckered himself out with weeping. He came to a rest, lying his head on Virgil's chest. He didn't move, hoping that Virgil might just let him stay there. As his eyes slipped closed, however, the spirit shook his shoulder. 

Roman burrowed his head under the blankets. "Mmrp?" 

"I'd rather that he didn't find me like this," he said gently. "You need to reset me before you go to sleep."

Roman shook his head, not moving. "I'll wake up early and do it."

"You're a heavy sleeper," Virgil said with some regret. "And I'd fall asleep too." He pushed Roman's head off him. "C'mon."

Roman rolled off Virgil with a thud. "You're so cruel to me," he whined. 

Virgil pushed himself up. "Tell me to behave."

"What?"

"It's a shorthand for the instruction," Virgil said tightly. "I don't know how the curse learns what things mean, maybe it's something about the intention of the spirit or the person ordering-"

"I don't want to say that to you," he said in a small voice.

"It's not the biggest of our problems here, Ro."

"It's extremely rude." 

"I know you don't mean it, dude."

Roman shuffled out of the circle and swallowed. "Could I ask you to maybe be still and have your mouth shut?"

Virgil cut him a look.

"Fine." Roman took a deep breath. "Virgil- behave?"

Virgil went unnaturally still. 

Roman felt awful. "Are you okay?"

Virgil gave him a long, slow cat-blink.

Roman breathed out through his nose. "Of course." He blinked back to him. "Goodnight. Sweet dreams."

He couldn't sleep facing the odd figure of his friend in the corner, so he turned his back to him. Placing himself between him and the door he hoped he could serve as a paltry defence. Once again, sleep smothered him in dreamless darkness.

*

A barked instruction woke Roman just in time to see Virgil, who had fallen asleep kneeling, tumble to the floor as his body responded to the order before his mind did. Up, and dressed, just like the day before, he left behind the room and Virgil, who stood stone-faced and stoic as keening wind and roaring thunder betrayed his anger.

Roman envied the scale of it. He could sass the man more than the spirit, but only for a few fruitless minutes. Then he was back at his thankless task, all alone again. And as Virgil’s rage echoed through the sky, like a cry amplified by a thousand caverns, as his tears fell in a deluge until Roman was heavy with them, as a crack in his pride was told by lightning splitting the sky, all Roman had were exhausted sobs drowned out by the storm. 

His anger was so complete it began to choke him. 

That evening, he was curled up again, racked with shivers which irritated his already sore muscles. "I don't know what to do with the anger,” he said, voice reined in so his irritation wouldn’t make Virgil uneasy. “I can't put it into digging- that's for him. I can't distract myself with my senses- everything's bad around me. Crying just makes me feel worse! I can't just hold it like this," Roman finished bitterly, spreading his hands as if to show the futility of keeping it contained. "I feel like I've been here for months. I've strained muscles I didn't know I had. I'm angry because everything is _useless_."

Virgil hummed from his corner. "Give it to me." 

"What?"

"I don't like it when you're hopeless, annoying as the optimism was,” he said more tenderly than the words would suggest, “Give the anger to me." His voice was more assured than it had been for days. 

Roman’s brow furrowed. "How?" 

"You see that string on the desk? Take a bit of it and weave it together."

"I don't want him to be annoyed," Roman said in a small voice he despised. Things had snapped into a narrow focus and the man was at its centre

"He won't notice, okay?" Virgil shuffled forward towards the barrier. "Cut me a bit too."

Roman hobbled over to the table and used his forearm to measure out two lengths of string. When he sat back down, Virgil held his hands out for Roman to make a simple cat's cradle. He wove it clumsily, fingers stiff from the persistent cold. Once it was done, he let go. "And that's it?"

Virgil nodded once. "That's it.”

"I feel...a little better," he admitted.

Virgil took the cat's cradle off their fingers and tucked it into his pocket. "Magic of arts and crafts,” he quipped. 

"Virgil," Roman said mock-sternly. The spirit tensed. He tried for a lighter tone. "Are you bullshitting me?"

"Nah, promise. My turn now."

He held still as Virgil wove a more dexterous piece, long fingers moving in practised twists. 

Once it was done, his fingers had left rain on it like dew caught in a spiders web. He pulled it off with a flourish, and placed it on top of Roman's head. "Luck netted in your hair."

"You wetted my hair, more like," the farmer grumbled, but a treacherous hope kindled in his chest.

Virgil snorted. 

"Oh, you know what I mean!" Roman said. "Fiendish thunderer." 

"Foolish...farmer?"

"Not your best," Roman took off the string and tucked it under his quilt as he lay down for the night. "I hope you sleep well, Virgil."

"You too." He curled up in his corner and lay his head onto the floor.

*

Roman set out to the fields with high hope that morning; he chose to focus on one of the holes that he'd dug before. It was so deep he needed a ladder to get up and down. However, as he began to flag, so did his optimism. Tonight, he might come back to Virgil stuck again. Or, he’d be upset- he’d have that haunted look in his eyes, and the wind would be screaming outside while Roman’s friend was reserved and silent. 

His back was aching and pulling, and it wasn’t just painful, it was _boring_ in the monotony of his suffering. No wonder Virgil was so obsessed with change and novelty. By the time the sun began to fall in the sky it felt like all he'd accomplished was disturbing the route of a multitude of worms.

But then, as the angle of sunlight slanted down, he caught a glimmer in the corner of his eye. He stopped, hardly daring to breathe. It was probably glass, he reminded himself, he'd run into that once before. His heart still thudded against his chest.

Slowly, as if the twinkle would spook and flee, he turned around to look at it.

A clear shard of something stared at him from the earth. He touched the hard edge of it with his thumb- sharp, but not nearly enough to cut- then began to work away the dirt around it by hand.

He pulled out a rounded shape attached to a long, rusting chain. He rubbed at the mud with his fingers, then bent down to wash it in one of the puddles. Dirt floated off it, revealing a multifaceted gem attached to the long chain. It was sharp and alien against the clear water.

"I did it," Roman said in a low voice. "We did it. It worked." A sunny grin split his face as he leapt to his feet and held the pendant over his heart. "We did it!" he crowed. "I did it!" 

He tucked the pendant around his neck and under his shirt for safekeeping and attacked the mud-wall it had come from, seeking the rest of the treasure.

The rest of the evening yielded only mud and rock, but that didn't matter. Roman climbed up from his hole and dragged his spade and ladder back; his fatigue was helpless against his triumph. 

The man opened the door, as usual. "Here you are again, useless as ever," he drawled.

He only grinned back. "I have a little something to discuss with you and Virgil."

The man frowned. "No, tell me now."

"No, later," Roman replied, almost playfully.

"Don't talk back."

"You'll want to hear this. He pushed inside and laid down the shovel and ladder. 

The man, overruled by begrudging curiosity, led him back to the room, then gave him a hard look as he locked the door behind them all.

Roman pulled the pendant out from under his shirt. "Now, I'm just a humble farmer, a man of simple ways, but- Virgil? Does this not look like treasure?"

Virgil looked too startled for joy, his eyes widening as they met Roman's.

The man went still and stared at the pendant. His mouth worked for a moment before he stammered out- "How?"

He gave him a smug smile. "Lucky guess."

The man turned to Virgil. "Did you do this?" he growled, trembling with emotion.

Virgil ducked his head. "Yeah, like I've been doing the whole-"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" the man snapped. As Virgil’s head snapped upwards, the man wrenched his head back by the hair. "Don't you dare lie to me any more." Helpless, his breaths picked up as he struggled for words. 

Roman stepped forwards to calm the man down. "We found it-" 

The man ignored him. 

"What did you do? What did you do for him that you wouldn’t for me? How long have you been _hiding it from me?_ " His eyes roamed over Virgil until they snagged on the woven string peeking out of his pocket. "Hand that to me!" 

Roman was sick of this, he was so sick, and so angry, and all he wanted was for Virgil to get out now. He just needed him _out._

"What the fuck is this?" The man brandished Roman's web of anger in his hand.

"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing, I swear-" He tried to put his hands up to defend himself but the man simply barked, "Behave!" 

As Virgil fell onto the floor, everything went very still for a moment. 

The shutters rattled and static pricked across Roman's skin. "You said," Roman yelled, "that you would _let him GO!"_ His voice distorted into wind and thunder. 

Lightning crashed through the window, tearing a hole in the boards over it. When the flash cleared, Virgil was gone.

The man started back. "What-"

The pendant over Roman's chest crackled with power. The stark white light and howling rain which swirled inside it looked oddly familiar. He put a hand over it. "Virgil?" he softly asked.

The pendant pulsed.

The man suddenly thrust his hand out towards Roman. "It's mine! It's mine by right! I caught the spirit, I researched the stories-"

"You were never planning on letting him go after all." Rain drummed through the smashed window, beating a final tattoo onto the floor.

"Do you really think you can wield that kind of power?" the man spat. "Give it to me! I earned it! He kept that from me, the deceitful creature- think of what he could do to you!"

The farmer felt the power, dangerous and intoxicating: the storms which had beaten him, the sweet relief of rain after drought, the moment of a coin flip where all became certain, the luck caught up in his own hair. With no effort, he could just smite the man….

He shook his head. "No, I can’t wield that power." 

Roman tugged the pendant off his neck and cupped it in his hands. "Come out, Virgil," he said firmly.

The spirit appeared by his side. Standing like this, he was taller than Roman, and distinctly inhuman. With wonder, he looked down at his body, and over down to where he had been trapped. "Roman," he breathed, and the breeze rushed through to caress Roman's face. "You...rescued me."

The man didn't even try to resist as Roman grabbed his arm. He pulled him out of the door and out of the building entirely, into the swirling storm. Virgil was behind him, rushing through the door, appearing in front of them in the field with a crack of thunder. 

Virgil threw his head back and laughed, spreading his arms out to embrace the rain as it rushed down to him. He made a full, delighted circle, long hair sticking to his face and snapping in the wind. 

Then, he turned to the man and his grin only widened. "Get on your _fucking_ knees." Lightning split the sky into blinding black and white, silhouetting the spirit; wide-eyed and utterly without mercy, Virgil was not a thing of flesh and blood, but thunder roaring out and wind howling savagely and pouring rain. 

The man dropped as if he had been compelled. 

_Shut your mouth_ , the wind hissed.

He did.

"Tighter," Virgil chided. "So your teeth are touching."

The man clutched at Roman's sleeve. He looked up at him with wide eyes full of desperation. His fingers twisted into the threadbare material as he tried to catch his attention. "You're a human too! You're a human too- won't you help me?"

"Shut up, how dare you speak," Virgil snarled. "Roman has every right to kill you himself."

He had dreamed of it, yes. But as the reality of murder drew closer, he knew with a sick certainty he couldn't do it like this, not in cold blood. "Virgil, I can't," he said in a low voice.

"Can I, then?" Virgil said, meeting his eyes solemnly. "It is right for me to do."

He nodded just once. He turned his back and as he walked away, he heard-

"Beg me not to kill you.”

"Please, please, I fed you, I clothed him, I have friends. Please. I only hurt you if I had to."

The storm laughed. "That's not good enough."

Roman walked away into the pelting rain until he heard a distant scream, and then, silence. The man had found the luck owed to him after all.

He waited, huddling under the protection of his cloak, until Virgil strode up to his side. "It's done."

“Okay.” He took in a shaky breath. “Okay.” His eyes met Virgil’s, searching for the change in his friend after the murder. He didn’t look any different. Roman exhaled. “Spirits. We did it,” he said almost in disbelief.

A grin spread over Virgil’s face. “Yeah,” he sounded tired. “You did.”

Roman put his hands on Virgil's shoulders. “I- no, you were so strong-”

"Don't do that shoulder bullshit-" Virgil grumbled, then he pulled Roman into a proper hug.

The two stood together, holding each other close, as the clouds emptied and the sun finally peeked out behind them for the first time in weeks. Roman slumped against Virgil, who wrapped his arm tight around him and rested his head on top of his hair. 

As Roman pulled away, he couldn't help but wince at a twinge in his shoulder. Virgil cringed with him. "Did I aggravate it?"

"It's fine," he said with a grimace, and decided the best course of action was heading out on the walk back home. Tired and aching, he didn't get very far before Virgil picked him up from behind. "Wrong way, idiot." 

Roman kicked his legs into Virgil's shins. "Could an idiot do this?"

He put him down with a sigh. "Unfortunately, yes." 

He turned the other direction. "There?" 

With a long-suffering sigh, Virgil raised his eyes to the sky. "I can't believe I have to carry you back."

"You do not need to carry me-" 

Virgil picked him up, and Roman let out a sharp cry at the sudden shift in position. The spirit quickly adjusted. "Better?"

"Not ideal," Roman grumbled. "But fine." 

Virgil set out over the fields, as the sun bathed the fields in the soft pink sky of dusk the clouds had cast darkness over too early. 


End file.
